Alex Barclay - Darkhouse

‘It happens with the job sometimes and I’m always interested, you know, what can be done to stop it happening again, to save someone else.’ He was groping. ‘Sorry, what were you about to say? You said “but”?’

‘But... that morning, a woman called to our house to speak with Ogden. I had never seen her before in my life. She was blonde, late thirties, tailored suit. And the strangest expression passed over her face when she saw me.’ She paused. ‘I guess it could best be described as pity.’

‘Pity?’

‘Well, that was the thing. Why would this stranger pity me? Hell, to the people who know me, I have a charmed life. But it was like this woman showed up on my doorstep and saw right through my soul.’

Victor nodded slowly.

‘Ogden’s face when he saw her. It turns out it was Marcy Winbaum, the DA. I hadn’t recognised her. She used to work with Ogden years ago. She’s changed a lot since then. And she definitely had a bee in her bonnet that day. Anyhow, she insisted on speaking to Ogden in private. He brought her out back to his study. Well, I was curious, so I put my ear to the door after they were in there quite a while and this woman’s voice was raised, which kinda struck me as unusual. I heard her saying something about “burying” things and “live with yourself”. She said she had found someone who would swear something in a court of law and that he had two choices. Then the timer went on my cooker and I had to go back into the kitchen to take out a pie.’

‘Did you ask your husband afterwards what it was all about?’

‘I didn’t like to ask. And it seemed apparent to me the next night that he’d created a third choice for himself and that was to blow his brains out.’

‘Can I ask you? Your husband worked on the Crosscut case. Those murders remained unsolved up until his death. Do you think that may have affected him—’

‘Those poor girls. Ogden took it real bad. But it was quite some time ago.’ She frowned. ‘Isn’t your organisation supposed to gloss over the failings of a dead cop?’ Victor frowned, then remembered his role.

‘I guess I was asking out of personal curiosity,’ he said. ‘Are you sure there isn’t anything we could do for you to commemorate your husband’s life?’

‘Let me tell you about Ogden Parnum,’ she said, suddenly. ‘I would see scratches on his back, tiny little scratches and little crescent moons from hungry nails. And on his face. I would catch glimpses of them, only glimpses, because I was never in a position to do otherwise. And look at me.’ Her hand traced the curves to her slender hips.

‘I am not a woman content to let herself go.’ She stopped. ‘And what I don’t understand is that there is nothing I would not have done for him, if you get my meaning. I’ve been around the block, Mr Finch. He wasn’t marrying a sweet and innocent young thing.’ She looked up. ‘What was wrong with me?’ she said, tears suddenly flowing from her eyes. ‘What was wrong with me?’

Marcus Canney bit and picked at his filthy nails.

‘This isn’t a rap on the knuckles in the District Court,’ said O’Connor, pointing at him. ‘You’ll be standing in your cheap little shiny suit with your hair all flat like your mammy does it, that thick look on your face... and it won’t matter a damn. Because it’ll be Delaney.’ He smiled. ‘The judge with the grudge. And you’ll be pissing in the wind.’

Canney twitched.

‘I’ll get no pleasure sending you down,’ said O’Connor. ‘But your suppliers...’

Silence.

‘Come on, Canney. You’re not playing Cowboys and Indians now. This is big time and you’ll go down for five to seven. You’re on your own then.’

Canney twitched.

‘And where will the big players be? Busy training in the new guy. They might do a better job this time, though. And after that, they’ll be wondering what’s the best way to get you off the scene. Will they take care of it inside or will they wait ’til you’re free and easy and thinking your whole life is ahead of you?’

Canney stared straight ahead.

‘Look,’ said O’Connor. ‘You can walk out of here and they’ll never have to know a thing. I can promise you that.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘You’re in it up to your neck, Canney. I don’t know what other way I can say it to you. But you have a way out. We’ll forget all about this. Off you go. No-one’s any the wiser. And we’re all happy.’

‘There’s no fucking way I’m going to fall for that.’

‘Why do you think I’m sitting here and not in an interview room with the tapes rolling?’

Canney stared past him, frowning. ‘Yeah, well...’

‘Well, what? Tell me. Who’s supplying you?’

‘Look, I’m saying nothing. Are you fucking stupid?’

‘Your call,’ said O’Connor, standing up. ‘I’ve done what I can. See you in the interview room.’ He walked towards the door. ‘Seven years, though. Even five. That’s the absolute minimum with this guy. I don’t think that’s registering,’ he said, tapping his forehead. He held the door handle longer than he needed to.

Canney finally spoke. ‘What if I knew something about that Mountcannon girl that was murdered?’

O’Connor spun around. Canney was smiling, nodding his head slowly.

‘You’re the lowest of the low, Canney...’

‘What if I’m serious?’

O’Connor turned back towards the door, shaking his head.

Canney shrugged. ‘What if I was one of the last people to see her alive?’

Old Nic went into the Stinger’s Creek diner and swapped twenty dollars for a handful of coins. He went outside to a payphone and dialled Joe’s number.

‘I can’t talk right now,’ said Joe quickly.

‘Yeah, but you can listen. And I mean it. I know you called off my trip, but here I am, North Central Texas. My bells told me to come. I spoke to the widow and let me tell you, Mrs Parnum is one foxy lady. But she’s a bitter one. Hated the husband, seems he was cheating on her, blah, blah—’

‘Did she say anything about why he killed himself? Or anything about the case?’

‘Just that he took it real bad. As to why her husband killed himself, she could care less, rattled off the standard reasons. Ice cold. But I think we have a very big reason why. You know who you might want to talk to? The last person who paid a visit to Ogden Parnum before he played Russian Roulette with a full chamber. Marcy Winbaum, the DA, used to work under Parnum, went back to college, yada yada, now she’s ordered the case reopened in the “someone has stepped forward with new information” kinda way. No-one has told Dorothy Parnum yet, because it seems her late husband is — or was — in very deep shit. Marcy Winbaum’s keeping her cards close to her chest, but rumour has it that’s because she’s about to throw down a killer hand.’

Anna had watched Duke Rawlins search the cottage and from a damp and filthy corner pull the sack that now covered her head. With every breath she took, the rank odour of wet cats and spoiled milk filled her nostrils. She had retched through the entire journey, curled helplessly on the cramped floor of the van. Now she was outside again, dimly aware of a freshness fighting through the stench.

‘OK, here,’ whispered Duke, jerking on her arm. Anna stopped. But she could hear the heaviest set of footsteps continue on ahead.

‘Sheba,’ hissed Duke. ‘Sheba, back here, you fat—’

Siobhán Fallon spun around, her face unable to hide her hurt. She walked slowly back toward him as he tied Anna’s legs at the ankles.

‘Please stop calling me Sheba,’ said Siobhán quietly. ‘It’s not that hard to say. Shiv-awn. It’s easy.’

‘Let me see,’ said Duke. ‘Sh... Sh... She. Bah. Right?’ His smile was fixed.